


Thorns

by karrenia_rune



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Gen, Introspection, POV, community: fic on demand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-13
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Dalamar Argent and his reflections on his dual role of loyal apprentice and spy for the Council of Mages. Set in the Legends Trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns

Title: Thorns  
Author: Karen  
Fandom: Dragonlance set during the Legends trilogy  
Recipient: miiro  
Request Details: http://www.livejournal.com/community/fic_on_demand/151307.html  
It was for romance but I can't write slash and it's from Dalamar POV so it may go with het as it does concentrate on how Dalamar thinks of Raistlin.

Disclaimer: The world of Dragonlance, the characters of Dalamar and Raistlin are the creations of TSR Inc, along with Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, and do not belong to me.

 

"Thorns" by Karrenia

I refer to my master by the Elven term, Shalafi, and while I am aware that those who practice the mystical arts in our world of Krynn would much prefer I had chosen another to learn and enhance my own considerable powers, I do not regret my choice.

I chose Raistlin Majere. Young, and human but already a growing magical talent and one whose name is already known outside the circles of mages and lesser magic users on the continent of Abanassia. I have made my choice, and I find that I able to live with it.

On these rare occasions that I have the leisure to confine my thoughts to paper, I recall the sequence of events that led to my exile from my beloved home in Silvanesti. My people cast me out, for practicing magic, for donning the black robes, and for other reasons, perhaps justified, perhaps not. It is late to worry over what might have been had I been allowed to remain in my native homeland.

For a long time afterward I sought the means and the opportunity for revenge, but I have relented from that goal in pursuit of a better one.

To serve my Shalafi and to learn from him, in whatever manner he may see fit.

Very few dare approach this bastion of power Raistlin Majere took for his own. He was the first to do so in over five hundred years since its destruction in the Cataclysm.

Its storied history, its past as a place for magic-users to gather, and the curse it fell under, and the vast thicket of sentient forest of Wayreth turns away all intruders. It is a natural defense barrier.

There have been a few exceptions of late, his sister, but she is a distraction and which I would much prefer not to dwell on at the moment. Distractions, that's all they are.

To look at, Raistlin appears slight, thin, too thin to the point of fragility,; his golden hourglass eyes stare into one's own. He's strong and there is power inside of him.

When I first arrived and recognized his potential I would have bent down on my knees and kissed the hem of his velvet soft black robes; and given body and soul to my Shalafi. So it would have been in my dreams. He was ambitious, powerful, determined, and unwavering in pursuit of his goals. I wanted that, and perhaps I still do.

But now events in the outside world have forced me to reevaluate my role. I think I dissemble well, that I have fooled him into believing that I am loyal to him, and I am.

But I have accepted a most dangerous assignment from the head of the Council of Mages. Admit it, Dalamar, if to no one else, all you are is one ambitious apprentice mage, who has accepted the role of a glorified spy.

I warn those fools on the Council of Raistlin's true agenda, his plans on confronting the dreaded queen, and superseding the gods of Krynn. A part of me, a part that envies his meteoric rise to power wishes him to succeed, another part, a part fears his success.

Upon my return, my Shalafi's punishment for that role is less than I perhaps feel that I deserve; five perfect punctures made by those slender fingers, burned into my flesh. The pattern reminds me of the roses that fill my Shalafi's pockets. The burning sensation left recalls the thorns that are also part of that flower. I roll up the scroll where I write down these reflections, thinking of thorns.

**Author's Note:**

> also previously written and posted for mirro's request in the LJ Multifandom community, Fic on Demand


End file.
